


Going to the dog(s)

by Maracuya



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jealousy, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-02-20 09:49:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2424266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maracuya/pseuds/Maracuya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the SanSan Russian Roulette on Livejournal.</p><p>Prompt: Sansa is jealous of Margaery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Going to the dog(s)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chanaleh](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=chanaleh).



> Disclaimer: I do not own my works of fanfiction/fanart. I do not profit from the stories or drawings, nor would I  
> ever seek to do so. All credit for characters, plot and settings go to the respective original author or artist.

Margaery looked glorious. Like always. And now, she owned a cream-coloured Pomeranian dog. Arya had already mused whether the animal would sound like a horn, should she ever tread on it. She and her sister were wolves. Direwolves, no less.

 

"Why should Sandor Clegane fawn on Margaery with her overbred pocket gopher?" Sansa breathed into her sister's ear.

 

Arya smirked.

 

"Har, surprise! I've just spotted a yellow-eyed monster south of the Wall!"

 

Sansa was taken aback.

 

No. No, she wasn't jealous. Not of the scarred ruffian who was now even _PETTING_ the tiny furred beast at Margaery's side. Perhaps a murmured comment that flirting with the Westerosi Queen was close enough to treason would help. After all – the Tyrell Rose had chosen King Tommen, and it wasn't Sansa's mistake if the boy was still too young for the consummation of the marriage.

 

Gods, she was mean-spirited! Besides, Sandor Clegane was a free man. And scarred; perhaps he simply wasn't accustomed to a woman's ador... sweet Mother, how that minx was smiling at him!

 

Sansa was tapping her fingers onto the table in front of her. She hadn't touched the food ever since she had spied Tommen's shield and the queen together. Having seen enough baseness in her life her mind ran rampant with speculations about the dirty details between them.

 

Naturally, merciless Arya whispered at her side: “I'll never understand what a woman should see in that bastard. Sure, in contrast to your late Tyrion he's tall, strong, fit, impressive, muscled and I'm sure his private parts are to scale, but...”

 

“Shut. Your. Mouth.”

 

Arya chuckled.

 

“I didn't know it's that bad. Afraid Margaery will have two dogs in her bed soon?”

 

“You're outrageous.”

 

Arya popped a date into her mouth.

 

“Can I have your rests, sister? You don't look hungry. At least not hungry for food.”

 

Sansa hissed. The insolence of it!

 

“Whatever happened to you in Braavos – you're still no lady.”

 

“Nope. And glad about it. Shall I trim the Rose for you?”

 

“What about uprooting her?”

 

“That would cost a lot: an oath that I won't have to marry. Ever.”

 

“I don't have the power to grant you that wish.”

 

“A pity.”

 

The Pomeranian dog yapped. Uuh, wasn't Margaery already deaf from the squeaking? The sounds of stressed piglets in their pigsty was less piercing than the ones of this canine.

 

And Sandor? He threw back his head and barked his laughter. Margaery chittered along.

 

It was too much for Sansa. She rose from the table and pretended to head for the privy. Instead, she rushed to a little overgrown yard and allowed herself to weep.

 

A moment later, there was the sound of a heavy boot behind her.

 

“Oh please, not another 'admirer' who wants to buy me as his broodmare!” she thought, desperate.

 

“Phew, little bird, I can tell you: that bloody would-be barking sent tears to my eyes as well.”

 

Sansa pivoted around.

 

“San...dor Clegane,” she stuttered and blushed.

 

“Still chirping like all those years ago, I gather. At least you're not deaf. See, I've got a theory on why the queen doesn't care about the pathetic barking of her buggering little lap-beast: without a brain in the middle the sound can go in to the right ear and out to the left unhindered.”

 

Sansa should be indignant about the statement considering the queen; instead, she found herself stifling a fit of laughter.

 

So Sandor hadn't been interested in Margaery at all!

 

“I like your chirping better than the barking, you know, little bird?”

 

Sansa's heart leapt into her throat.

 

“You once said to me you wanted to have a song from me one day, Sandor. What about now? To help you forget the canine squealing?”

 

Sandor's eyes widened. He gulped.

 

“Going to the dog, is that the way of it, little bird?”

 

Sansa grinned.

 

Mere minutes later, there were some tell-tale sounds to be heard in a secluded part of the overgrown yard – and none of them were close to barking.


End file.
